


Whispers

by orphan_account



Series: Broken Kaleidoscope [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, George Washington is a Dad, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Muteness, Recovery, Selectively mute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's been three years since Alexander came back. He's not the same, never will be, but he's not alone.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton & Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens
Series: Broken Kaleidoscope [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623586
Comments: 7
Kudos: 155





	1. Speak

**Author's Note:**

> just some scenes set in the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said I'd leave this as a one-shot but this was keeping me up at night banging pots and pans in my head until I wrote it down. First chapter is short, but the entire thing's going to be around 5k words.

It had been three years since Alexander had been captured, and he was still recovering.

There would be days, or even weeks where he wouldn’t make a noise.

George was by his side for all of it. When they hung the bastards who had captured him, George held him close to his chest in the square. When Alexander was accused of spilling secrets to his torturers, George defended him. And on the nights where nightmares plagued him, George held him until his tears stopped.

It had taken six months for him to speak.

The first time, he and George were alone in George’s office. He had just finished dictating a letter, and was preparing to make his rounds through camp when a small voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Thank you, sir.” Alex said, standing awkwardly by the desk. He was fidgeting with his quill, and wasn’t looking George in the eye, but he looked determined.

George was shocked. Alex hadn’t spoken a word since he came back. He had gradually gotten to the point where he was no longer terrified at every small noise and sudden movement. For him to actually speak was a monumental moment in his recovery.

George carefully made his way over to the other side of the tent. When he had first been brought back, people moving too quickly was enough to send Alex into a panic. By his current demeanor, George could tell it wouldn’t take much to set him off. When he was standing in front of him, he wrapped his arms around him. He was so happy, he felt like crying.

“You’re welcome, son.” He said, setting his chin on top of Alex’s head. He tightened his grip on him, pulling him impossibly closer to his chest.

It was only three words, but it was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading this. I love hearing from y'all, so PLEASE comment. Compliments, complaints, ideas, description of a cute dog you saw today, I'd love to hear it.


	2. Hang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again.

It was almost a year later when they found his captors.

They had been hiding in a cellar underneath a barn, not three miles away. George was sickened at the fact that Alexander had been held so close, yet so far. When they finally brought them in, George decided that he was going to have to sit down with Alex himself and explain the situation.

His recovery had been slow, but sure. He now spoke a few sentences a day, and no longer flinched at sudden movements. However, George knew that knowing his captors were still out there scared him more than he would ever let on.

That’s why, on the day they were set to be brought to the square for hanging, he summoned him to his tent.

“You asked for me, sir?” Alex said tentatively, pushing aside the tent flaps.

“Yes, son. Take a seat.” George motioned for the chair beside the desk, then took the one across from it.

Confused, Alex sat down.

Taking a deep breath, George decided that it would be best if it was said straightforward. “Alex, they caught your kidnappers. They’re bringing them to the town square for hanging at noon.”

At first, Alex looked confused. But then, realization dawned on his face. His breaths quickened, and he scrambled out of his seat.

George was at his side in an instant, wrapping his arms around him and effectively trapping his arms between them. Alex had a bad habit of scratching his arms bloody during these attacks.

“Hey, it’s alright. I’ll be by you. They can’t hurt you again. They’ll never hurt you again.” He promised, running his fingers through Alex’s hair. Alex slightly relaxed, and George led him over to the bed.

“Can you speak?” George asked.

Alex opened his mouth, then shut it and shook his head.

“That’s alright. Here, write it down.” George handed him a quill and a piece of parchment. They had developed a system, that when Alexander was unable to speak he would write it down instead. George always made sure to keep a quill and paper around, and it had turned out useful on several occasions.

Alex concentrated on his paper. When he held it out to George, it said  **Do I have to go?**

“Not unless you want to. You are under no obligation to see them.”

Looking conflicted, he held it out again.  **I want to.**

“Are you sure, son?” George asked, concerned. He didn’t want this to destroy all of the progress they had made.

Alexander nodded.  **I have to. Maybe the nightmares will stop.**

That was one thing that still haunted Alex. Countless times, George had been awoken by Alex’s dreams. He would wake him, and have to explain that he was here, and there was no way for them to capture him again. The uncertainty of where his torturers were had plagued Alexander night and day. For the first six months, he refused to leave George’s side, lest they catch him alone. He worked in his office, slept in his bed, and George never once complained. It was easier to reach him when he was having a nightmare or attack. And truth be told, he felt more secure with the constant reminder that Alex was there and no longer a prisoner of the British.

He had gotten better these last six months. He started going back to his own tent and worked in the room with the other aides. But, the nightmares never stopped. Almost every night, Alexander would wake up thinking that he was back in that cellar. He never told the specifics, but George knew that whatever they did was horrible. His suspicions were confirmed when John Laurens and Lafayette, the men who had led the raid on the barn, came back with a haunted look in their eyes. If just looking at the cellar caused such a reaction, George couldn’t bear to wonder what had actually gone on in there. Seeing his captors hung could put an end to the fear, the constant looking over his shoulder.

That’s how they found themselves in the town square at noon. It was crowded with soldiers and townspeople alike, all wanting to see them meet their end. Normally, George would be the one to deliver the sentence. Today, however, he was needed elsewhere. He had appointed Benjamin Tallmadge the duty of sentencing the redcoats, and had instead taken up a spot right next to Alexander in the back of the crowd.

Alexander was terrified, that much could be discerned from his rigid posture and his attempts to bring himself as close to George as physically possible. So far, no one but Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette knew they were there. Alexander’s friends were standing guard around the perimeter, simultaneously ready to stop a British attack and rush to his side on a second’s notice, should the situation be too much. Alexander didn’t know, but George had talked with the three and they had figured out an escape plan should Alex started panicking.

A hush fell over the crowd when the men were brought out. Only five. Only five men, and yet they were able to scar his son in a way that he would never fully recover from. George felt anger surge through his veins. How dare they? How  _ dare  _ they think they have the right to take away whatever they choose, whomever they choose? These vile men were not deserving of the noose. They deserved to go through the same pain as those they had tortured.

George was brought out of his thoughts by a slight gasp from the boy beside him. He had spotted them. George could feel his tension, could feel the fear radiating off him in waves. He was still trying to maintain some distance between them, trying to make George believe that this wasn’t affecting him. George could see right through his delicate facade. He wrapped his arms around him, and pulled his head to his chest. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to relieve some of the panic that was already building. He may need to see the hanging for the finality, but he could shield him from his captors for as long as possible.

The men were led up to the gallows. Tallmadge started reading their sentence, the fury in his voice barely masked. He and Alexander were close, and this was personal. Hell, it was personal for the entire camp. Whether you knew him well or had met him in passing, everyone knew of the loquacious Alexander Hamilton. His energy and witty humour brought light to the camp. The past year had been hard on all of the soldiers. Without Alexander’s quick tongue, a dark cloud had settled over the camp. Seeing the once vibrant young man who was always ready for an argument of wits (and on more than one occasion, fists) cease breathing when asked for his opinion on a letter to General Greene put everyone on edge. The cold edge in Tallmadge’s voice was shared in the looks of those around him. If looks could kill, the men would have been lying dead on the ground from the moment they stepped out of the makeshift prison.

When the final sentence had been declared, the thin cloth bags that had been over their heads were removed. They made quick work of analyzing their surroundings, and the ringleader zeroed in on Washington immediately. Because of his height, he was clearly visible, even from the back of the crowd. The man’s gaze went downward, and when he saw Alexander he smirked. George tightened his grip. He  _ winked  _ at him. George was revolted.

The first man went up. “Final words?” Tallmadge asked as the noose was fitted around his neck.

George gently moved Alex to where he could see the proceedings. It was the reason they came, and he was determined that it wouldn’t be for naught. Alex was still almost relying on the man to keep him afoot, but he held himself with as much dignity as he could muster. George felt a sense of pride. Almost no one would be brave enough to face their torturer, let alone still have a fire burning in their eyes. Then again, Alex was no ordinary soldier.

The redcoat straightened his shoulders, and stood as proud as he could without having the rope cut off his air prematurely. “Long live the Crown.” And just like that, the floor opened and he fell. His neck snapped with a sickening  _ crack  _ that reverberated through the town. Alex flinched violently, but other than that he kept a stoic face.

And so it continued. The others went up to the gallows, professed their loyalty to the Crown as if it were a Shakespearean play, then dropped from their stage, necks decorated with a necklace of rope. It continued on until there was only one more, the one who had winked at George. He held himself different than the others. Where the others had maintained the set shoulders and rigid posture of a soldier, this one carried himself with an air of superiority and ease. He gracefully climbed the steps, then took center place.

“Final words?” Benjamin asked for the fifth and final time.

He turned his head to where George and Alex were standing. He stared straight into Alexander’s eyes, causing the young man to shrink even more. His shakes worsened, and George knew that as soon as this final trap door was opened, he would need to get Alexander to a quiet, isolated place to prevent an episode. George glared directly back at the man, boring holes into him,  _ daring  _ him to say something. The man pointedly ignored him, keeping his steadfast stare on Alexander. Straightening his back, he projected his voice so it could be heard through the square.

“You may think you can escape this. You may think you can win. But what you forget is that we’re always here. We’re here when you die, we’re here when you scream. Someone needs to silence you. Wouldn’t you agree, my dear Alexander?” The crowd erupted into angry shouts.

Alex gasped, and tripped over himself trying to escape. The man laughed. Oh, he laughed and laughed. He laughed until the floor fell and his neck jerked at an odd angle, a ghost of a smile still present on his face.

His friends were by his side in an instant. “Alexander, can you look at me?” John asked. Alex didn’t respond. One look at his face and he could tell Alex was gone, trapped in his head reliving the nightmares of the past. George gently scooped him into his arms and carried him through the pathway that Lafayette and Mulligan had been able to forge through the crowd. They arrived at an old house, graciously lent to them by an old widow who had lost her husband to the war, and now wanted to do her share. George carried him up the stairs and into the bedroom. He carefully laid him down on the bed. Faintly, he could still hear the noises from the angry crowd. Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette stayed outside. They had long since learned that the only one able to bring him out of these waking nightmares was George, and that any others only served to further agitate him.

Sitting down on the bed next to him, George took his right hand and rubbed soothing circles into the palm. Alexander was unseeing. His hazy eyes saw something only he could see, people hidden in the shadows of the room.

These episodes used to be more common. Something would set Alexander off, maybe someone jokingly telling their friend to be quiet or a hand moved too quickly. His movements would shut down. His eyes glazed over, and he was taken back to where he had been held captive. It had been months since the last episode, but the redcoat’s words must have triggered something.

“Alexander, can you come back?”

George’s words received no sign of acknowledgement. He kept staring at the wall, fingers twitching and body shaking. Standing up from the bed, George went to the closet and got down the spare blankets. They weren’t much, but they would have to do. Walking back over to the bed, George set them down next to Alexander’s still body. Unfolding one, he laid it over him, quickly tucking the edges under him. He did the same with the second. Then the third, and the fourth. Once he was done, he laid down on top of him and murmured words of encouragement. They didn’t know why, but the weight seemed to ground him and bring him back to his senses.

Sure enough, after about fifteen minutes, George felt him start to shake. Easing himself off the bed, he held his hand as he slowly came back. For a moment, everything was calm. Then, Alex was struggling to catch his breath through his tears as every emotion came back to hit him full force.

“Oh God, I- I can’t- Why can’t I-  _ Please-”  _ Alex cried.

“It’s alright son. You’re here with me, George Washington. Your friends Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan are outside the door. You’re at camp, in a home a woman was nice enough to lend us. You’re safe.” He promised, helping Alex sit up.

“But where- Did they- Are they gone?” He asked, trying to stop the hiccups that came along with the sobs.

“They’re gone. They can never hurt you again. Everything is fine.” He promised, sitting down on the bed and pulling Alex into his lap.

His cries quieted, and soon the silence was only permeated by the occasional sniffle. And for a moment, sitting there with his son who had survived against all odds, George really believed that it would.


End file.
